


Daughter of the Rising Tide

by nausicaa_of_phaeacia



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: (sort of), Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., Drinking, F/M, Fluff, Mild Smut, Post-Season/Series 01 Finale, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 13:18:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2548904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaa_of_phaeacia/pseuds/nausicaa_of_phaeacia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A silly little something with smutty tendencies. Also, cheesy.<br/>Right after the Season 01 finale, Skye knocks at Coulson's door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daughter of the Rising Tide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [earthandblood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthandblood/gifts).



> I can't write teh sex. It's a fact. So here have something that's remotely connected to it. Also, poorly written fluff.  
> (Hiatus, go away.) :)

There's a knock on his office door only a few hours after Fury announcing he was going to be the next Director. He murmurs a 'yes', and the door opens to reveal Skye, smiling brightly.  
"Hey," she chimes.  
He can't help smiling back.  
"Hey."  
"Can I come in? _Director_?"  
Coulson kind of waves her in and watches her close the door after herself very carefully. "At work already?," she asks as she sits down in one of the more or less unharmed office chairs.  
He puts away a stack of files he's been going through. "Yeah. I figured there was no better time to get started with the actual job."  
Skye nods approvingly. "I see. But you seem... Are you okay with this, Coulson?"

It's the first time he really looks at her since she entered the office, and his expression isn't exactly one of joy. "Not sure I'm up for it. S.H.I.E.L.D. obviously needs a new leader, but I can't see why I'm apparently the best choice."  
She smiles, and he can feel himself get a little indignant about the whole matter. "Well, _I_ can see why - but I won't explain right now. What I'll tell you though that it's a really good thing. Which is why I brought this-" - she's raising an almost full bottle of Scotch - "-to celebrate."  
His smile is somewhat pained. "Skye, I'm not sure -"  
"Come on, Coulson. You just saved the day. Again. I daresay you've earned yourself one."  
He feels very much tempted to protest, but the twinkle in her eyes makes him smile a little in resignation instead. Her responding smile is so bright he feels his heart thump a little in his chest. She cheerfully screws off the cap and he produces two magically unscathed glasses from behind his desk so she can pour.

"Skye, I think that's plenty -"  
"Don't be such a killjoy. It's just one drink, Coulson, admittedly a generous one, but really well-earned. I didn't come here to party." She clinks her tumbler against his before he picks it up. "I thought it would be nice to, I don't know, celebrate the fact that you're finally going to make S.H.I.E.L.D. what it was supposed to be before Fury - excuse me - kept fucking things up royally." She takes a sip. "Don't tell him, though," she half-whispers conspiratorially in a very deep voice, and it makes him chuckle a little. She feels accomplished. He raises his glass a little, and they drink. 

"Everything's in shambles, though," he says, sitting down in the chair closest to hers. "Don't even know where to start."  
"Do it as if you had to do it from zero. Don't try to fool me, Coulson, I know you always wanted to build something like S.H.I.E.L.D. when you were teenager Phil. Am I right?"  
He's grinning. "Thanks for reminding me of my age."  
"Ow, Coulson. You know exactly what I meant."  
"Yeah." His smile is bright this time. "Other kids were playing baseball."  
That makes her crack up a little, and he can't help joining her. 

He tops them off before they've finished their drinks completely. She gives him a weird look, surprised, but undeniably pleased. It means he's enjoying tonight's company.  
"What would _you_ do?"  
"Me?" Her surprise is genuine. He's simply nodding. "First thing I'd do would be to get rid of levels. I'm sorry, but that's nonsense. I get the need-to-know system, but I don't think there should be much of a hierarchy. Teams have their team leaders, sure, but there shouldn't be a ranking between teams."  
He's smiling. "Are you saying you're a communist, Miss Skye?" Bogart voice. She chuckles. "Not exactly, no. But, you know, I wouldn't rule it out completely, either. There are things that have gone horribly wrong, but in theory, communism is one of the best society concepts."  
Bogey again. Upper lip curled inwards. "A socialist, then?"  
More chuckling. "I don't know. More like it." She takes a sip, then summons a horribly performed Southern accent. "A true Rising Tide rebel girl."  
He smiles, but it's a little too serious. "You're far more than that."  
Skye's sure the Scotch must be going straight to her head, because Coulson's words make her incredibly happy. She's beaming. "Thank you."

It's Skye who's topping them off next time. They've been making themselves more comfortable: the suit jacket and tie have gone, and Skye's feet are on the Director's desk, her legs stretched out, towards Coulson, over the whole length of it.  
She raises her glass in his direction. "To our triumph, A.C."  
A lopsided, trademark Phil Coulson smile. "To triumph." The clinking of their pretty full tumblers makes her laugh a little. She tries to look him the eye very intensely while they're drinking, and for some reason, Coulson doesn't see why he shouldn't join the game. When they lower their glasses again, they both find themselves giggling childishly over the unbroken eye contact.  
Skye's the first to get a hold of herself again. "Sorry," she grins, and Coulson grins back. To hell with everything, they've defeated HYDRA for now. It's a start.

Coulson reaches for the bottle to top them off a little again, and accidentally brushes Skye's leg. There's a brief glance they exchange, and it makes him feel all warm and fuzzy and childish. "Sorry," he mumbles, and Skye forgives him as if she really didn't mind his touch. They raise their glasses again.  
"You know, Coulson, I'm proud of you. Don't think lotta people could've done what you've done."  
He's sure he's blushing. "Thank you. You too. You're incredible."  
That seems to get to her, because her eyes seem a little shiny when she smiles at him.  
The moment is a little too awkward for Coulson, so he walks over to the equally unscathed (thank God!) record player. As the needle settles, he offers her his hand.  
"A dance?" She seems positively surprised. He nods a little, and she lets him pull her up and into his arms for a slow big band number.

They just this tiny bit too close, and Skye realizes she can smell his aftershave. To settle her head in the crook of his neck would only require her to move a few inches, and so she does. She figures he doesn't mind because his right arm is holding her really tight. It's a good thing, too, because the events of this day's work combined with the dancing and the Scotch have made her a little light-headed, and probably also a tiny bit insecure on her feet.

"Coulson?," she mutters into his shirt as they keep on dancing.  
"Yeah?"  
"I'm glad you're alive. I mean... you know what I mean."  
He's smiling against her shoulder. "Thanks, Skye." He's moving his arms around her waist and they end up continuing their dance in a tight hug, Skye's arms around his neck. "I'm glad you are," he adds, his voice a little raspy, and she can tell he's getting a little emotional. She pulls away a little to look at him, and it seems to discourage him a little, because he starts apologizing immediately. "I'm sorry - I guess I'm a little drunk."

She smiles, and Coulson finally understands why people have been going on and on about butterflies in stomachs for centuries.  
"Me too," she says, and next thing he knows, she's kissing him wildly, grabbing his shirt collar. After a moment of shock, he finds himself kissing back, and soon, there aren't any clothes left on either of them. Paperwork worth hours of sorting through land on the floor as they lower themselves on the desk. It's not your dream sex location, Skye remembers thinking, files and pencils and all, but somehow, nothing but Coulson counts anymore: Coulson's mouth on hers, his breath on her neck, his hands sculpting her, his every movement making her tremble. When, finally, they both sink down on half-destroyed piles of paper, she turns her head a little to see him, a little anxious. He smiles, and she touches his cheek with her fingertips. "I didn't think this was ever going to happen," he whispers. "Me neither," she whispers back, holding back a euphoric giggle, then suddenly grows serious again. 

"Phil?," she asks, her voice still a whisper.  
"Yeah?" The joy in his expression is obvious, and she seems just a little irritated by it. "... Why are you grinning?"  
He's still whispering. "You were going to ask if this was a one-time thing for me. Right?"  
A little self-conscious, she's holding back a smile. While nodding a little, she reaches under her hip, pulls out a stupid red pencil and drops it. He reaches out to brush a strand of hair off her warm cheek. There's a brief moment in which he seems to consider something, then he props himself up on his elbow to look her in the eye.

"Marry me."  
Her reaction is quite the combination between huge surprise and incredible joy, but Skye's not quite sure she should allow herself to believe this.  
"Phil, you're a little drunk. You can't be totally serious. There _are_ easier ways to make me Assistant Director, you know?," she says warmly, a twinkle in her eye. He smiles. "I'm sober enough, don't worry. But if it convinces you more..." Coulson gets up to walk around the desk, causing her to sit up, her hair a jungle - there might even be staples in her locks -, and gets down on one knee, naked, atop a huge mess of documents. Her overjoyed expression is one he's going to remember forever. "Marry me, Agent Skye the Fearless, Daughter of the Rising Tide, partner-in-crime, secret companion in alien-ness, and Friend of Lola," he declares in a ceremonial voice. Her chiming laughter is the most wonderful thing he's ever heard, and they land on thousands of sheets of paper as - disturbing his balanced position - she hops off the desk to hug him in a yes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Tell me what you think! :)


End file.
